She recovered, and vacated the spot a second before flame engulfed it. There was a crudeness to this sorcerer’s technique. He had clearly been wielding magic longer than she, but there was no polish to his method. He was a brawler… a street fighter who learned his craft in the dusty back alleys of some desert city. His spells were limited in scope-fire and kinetic movement only. He lacked subtlety and had little imagination.
“They send an acolyte to battle me!” he barked at her, in a southern dialect of Verakhoon. “I am K’ttan Dhourobi of Aht Humaydah. I have killed a dozen wizards. You have no hope against me, child.”
“And yet, four of your comrades are dead,” she answered back.
“I care not for dog — men.”
Lelani was sure they did not care for him either. She hoped there was a way her team could press that animosity toward their advantage… assuming they had a future after this night. Lelani pulled another arrow on her string and fired it. He deflected it easily. She had a good notion by now of his repertoire, his one-dimensional thinking. She needed to position him correctly to exploit these shortcomings. What worried Lelani was that she would have to cast two spells at once and drop her defensive posture. She was fairly sure that he would not counter with transmogrification and that she would not end up a cockroach, crushed under foot. It would be flame or flying knives… a survivable risk.
He cast a wall of vibration against her. The air between them shimmered, cracked, and boomed from circular vacuums shooting toward her like a tsunami. She got her hands up in time to counter the attack, but it pushed her back several feet, even with her digging into the cold hard ground.
“Defensive spells have their place, acolyte, but they are only half a battle,” K’ttan Dhourobi said. “To win, you must attack! Consider this final lesson a gift.”
Arrogant windbag. Lelani launched a half-dozen phosphorous spheres at him, which he dissipated with the fire from his staff. Flame and sparks erupted between them like a celebration. Immediately, Lelani cast her second spell and threw it wide. It bypassed K’ttan Dhourobi, and went toward the middle of the meadow. She prayed Seth remained with the tree. It would be her end if he didn’t.
Even as she finished casting her spell, Dhourobi had already cast his response, a spell she knew well called Sentient Wind. Every dirk, dagger, throwing star, and arrow within his vicinity suddenly flew at her. Knives it is, Lelani mused as she tried to avoid them. A throwing star grazed her temple, leaving a long gash that bled into her eyes. A dagger sunk deep into the right side of her lower belly, arrows lodged into her right leg and deltoid, and a dirk shattered her right clavicle. Lelani’s scream filled the woods.
She lay there struggling not to black out. K’ttan Dhourobi strolled confidently toward her as he readied his finishing blow. “A noble effort, but your aim was wide.” He prepared a flame spell. “I see no reason to prolong your suffering, acolyte. This will only hurt for a minute.”
Just as he was about to finish casting it, he spasmed and jerked as though struck from behind. The mage looked around and saw nothing but the clear winter night.
Still not quite sure what had happened to him, the mage returned his attention to Lelani and tried to recast his spell, only to find he could not. He was disoriented. He tried to speak.
“Glwaaaahgthooww blthezbed,” he started. “Axxquernfing gbcxwi?”
K’ttan Dhourobi’s eyes asked the questions his mouth was unable to construct.
“Brain hex,” Lelani said, tapping her temple.
With Rosencrantz’s help, Lelani’s spell had boomeranged backed and hit the mage unawares. His thoughts muddled, the sorcerer from Verakhoon could not string together, in mind, motion, or tongue, the intricate and delicate motions needed to utilize magical energy; he couldn’t cast anything more than a fart. Enraged, he charged Lelani prattling nonsense in a tone that communicated his intent to end her with his bare hands. Lelani pulled the dirk from her collarbone, making an effort not to pass out from the pain. She wasn’t strong enough to throw it left-handed. She held it on her palm with the point aimed at her attacker and spoke the verse for Sentient Wind. It flew from her hand at K’ttan Dhourobi. Instinctively, he waved his arms in what he believed was the counterspell to ward off such an attack, but it was instead a blithering pantomime of no merit. The dirk pierced the underside of his forearm on the way through his throat and out the base of his skull, pinning his lower arm against him with the back of his wrist wedged against his chin. His hand dangled before his face in a foppish hello as he fell to his knees with a look of incredulous disbelief. The light left his eyes as the rest of him followed suit toward the ground. He landed on his face.
Lelani breathed relief. The blood in her eyes clouded her vision, and she could not tell how her friends fared at the trailer. She tried to get up, but the pain was intense. Lelani fell back under her own weight. Her head spun, darkness corralled her vision and spread toward the center of her remaining sight.
“Oh my,” she said, as she finally passed out.
3
Seconds after Lelani bolted from their camp, the darkness swallowed her whole. Seth took his position by the tree and again felt the warmth flow through him. It was a calm, healing heat; even his corns felt great.
“What can you see?” Cal asked Cat, who was positioned above Seth on a thick branch.
“The fireflies are breaking into groups,” she said. “Looks like a bunch of floating balls of light.”
“They’re blind,” Cal noted. “The light shrinks their pupils… obliterates their night vision. Everyone get ready. They’ll be at us soon.”
“What?” Seth exclaimed.
“It’s on our terms.”
“Well, okay then,” Seth responded sarcastically.
“Hey!” Cat shouted. “One of those light orbs just dropped and disappeared! And there goes another!”
The group could hear many bolts whistling through the air. They braced for impact, but nothing arrived.
“They’re shooting the other way,” said Cal. “Trying to take her down.”
“Should I fire?” Cat asked.
“No,” Cal said. “They’ll be on us soon enough.”
“Another one down,” Cat reported. “Hey…!”
“What?” Seth asked.
“Two of those lights are heading this way, fast!”
Seth stepped on one of the dead gnolls by the tree to get a slightly better vantage on the field. Cat MacDonnell was right, the orbs were moving their way. Seth’s heart began to race. Cat looked as scared as he felt. He smiled at her and put on a braver face. One ball of light broke off to their right heading west, away from their camp. Seth couldn’t blame anyone, even the bad guys, from wanting to distance themselves from all this conflict. As the remaining group approached their well-lit area, Seth was able to make out the other people running alongside the gnoll.
“Cat! Take out that gnoll!” Cal ordered.
Cat aimed at the fireflies and fired. The border pyres were just starting to illuminate them. Seth could make out the fur on the gnoll’s body. Cat fired again just below the head. The gnoll whimpered as it went down. The fireflies dispersed. The rest of the gang was on top of them.
Those that made it past the pyres appeared human enough. Two turned toward Cal. A tall Nordic-looking henchman managed to get a bolt off before the cop shot him. The quarrel lodged in a trough in the cop’s vest where the gnoll had shredded it earlier. Seth could tell it had broken through when Cal winced. The cop kept firing at the other one, who continued to advance despite several direct hits.
The other two attackers headed toward Seth and Cat. One was tall and ugly, with a protruding lower jaw, similar to the fellow with the cold breath they fought in the tenement in the Bronx. Unlike his counterpart, he had long black hair which he kept tied back in a tail. He wore a white Judas Priest T-shirt and jeans, and nothing else despite the weather, not even shoes. He moved to the left of the tree while the other guy, a portly Mediterranean type in overalls who reminded Seth of Mario from the Donkey Kong games, moved to their right. Seth realized he was at a terrible disadvantage because he had to maintain contact with Rosencrantz.